Eye on India: Parvez Rasool national-anthem controversy is overblown and unnecessary

It is important to note that Rasool was not whistling or protesting in any way. There was no black armband, no raised clenched fist à la Tommy Smith and John Carlos. He just stood silently and chewed his gum.

Parvez Rasool seems to be judged by a different standard than other India players that may have to do with ethnicity. Sajjad Hussain / AFP
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As far as the big picture goes, few will remember the first Twenty20 international between India and England, played on January 26, at Green Park in Kanpur.

It was India’s 68th Republic Day, and for Parvez Rasool the occasion coincided with his first Twenty20 cap, more than two and a half years after his only ODI appearance in Mirpur.

It should have been an occasion to savour. Instead, Rasool, who scored five and took the wicket of Eoin Morgan, finds himself at the heart of a national-anthem controversy.

It probably did not help that India, who won the Test series 4-0 and the ODIs 2-1, were emphatically beaten on the night. Reined in with the bat and ordinary with the ball, they had no answers to an England side for whom Moeen Ali, Tymal Mills, Chris Jordan and Morgan were all outstanding.

For the uber-nationalist Indi-yah-Indi-yah crowd, defeat is not an option, nor is countenancing the fact that the opposition might actually have played better. A scapegoat was needed, and Rasool fit the bill, having come from Jammu and Kashmir, the state at the centre of the decades-long political tug-of-war between India and Pakistan.

Rasool first made the news as a 20-year-old, when he was arrested in Bangalore in October 2009 after traces of explosive were found during a check of his kitbag. He was released almost immediately because of a lack of evidence, and he spent the next few seasons stitching together the performances that caught the selectors’ eyes.

In the build-up to the Kanpur game, the two teams came out for the anthems to be played. For cricket, this is a recent development, a concession to the jingoistic narrative that television companies are fond of peddling for rating purposes. The camera first went to Virat Kohli, and then to some fans in the stands, before settling on Rasool.

He was chewing gum and not singing along. Next to him, Jasprit Bumrah also appeared to be silent. If he was singing, the lip movement was imperceptible. But the camera did not stray from Rasool, alternately switching between his face and the Ashoka Chakra — the national symbol — on his chest.

The implication was clear, and viewers duly picked up on it.

“Dear BCCI, If Parvez Rasool can’t sing India’s national anthem, chews gum while it’s being played, why should he wear India’s jersey?” tweeted one.

“DISAPPOINTED to see Parvez Rasool standing at ease & chewing gum during national anthem. Can wear India jersey, can’t sing anthem? #INDvENG,” said another.

The great Viv Richards was seldom seen on the cricket field without a stick of gum in his mouth, and he would chew it with a certain languid menace as he walked to the crease. In the days since anthems were introduced at cricket matches, I have seen at least half a dozen players chewing away as the music played.

It is important to note that Rasool was not whistling or protesting in any way. There was no black armband, no raised clenched fist à la Tommy Smith and John Carlos. He just stood silently and chewed his gum.

This is a man who has chosen to play for India, a team loathed by most that live in the Kashmir Valley. A journalist I spoke to when the player made his debut said that “Kashmiris would cheer for Rasool, and hope the opposition beat India”.

On the one hand, we complain that modern-day sportsmen are cardboard-cutout creations of their management and PR agencies. We paid lavish tributes to Muhammad Ali when he passed away, but will not stand for today’s athletes, such as Colin Kaepernick, taking a stand on matters of importance.

When Moeen wore a wristband in support of the people of Gaza, the International Cricket Council came down hard. When Imran Tahir lifted up his jersey to show a T-shirt paying tribute to Junaid Jamshed, Pakistani pop hero-turned-preacher, that was not acceptable either.

Rasool did not make any such statement. But because of where he comes from, his every act gets extra scrutiny.

When he dismissed Morgan, too late to influence the result, he smiled apologetically and walked over to Kohli, who gave him the most muted of high fives. Hopefully, the rest of India will also start treating him that way, as a talented cricketer who has worked hard for his chance.

Everything else is irrelevant.

Roger Federer, Indian hero

On Sunday, when Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal meet in a grand slam final for the first time since the French Open in 2011, millions of Indians will be watching. It won’t be inaccurate to say that in terms of numbers, India represents Federer’s biggest fan base. He is venerated in much the same way that Sachin Tendulkar once was. The fact that Tendulkar regularly heads to SW19 to watch Federer play merely reinforces the devotion.

That enthusiasm for the sport hasn’t translated into results on the courts, though. India players, notably Leander Paes, Mahesh Bhupathi and Sania Mirza, have enjoyed spectacular success in doubles events in the new millennium, but there has been almost nothing to cheer on the singles front.

You have to go back to the US Open of 1987, nearly 30 years ago, for the last time an Indian made a grand slam quarter-final. That was the third of Ramesh Krishnan’s three appearances – the US Open in 1981 and Wimbledon 1986 were the others – in the last eight of a slam. He made up for a podgy frame and sluggish movement with deft volleys and sublime touch, and his ability to draw the sting from the biggest hitters made him one of the tour’s charming anachronisms.

Krishnan was the last of a trio of great players Chennai produced. Ramanathan Krishnan, his father, reached the semifinals of Wimbledon in 1960 and '61, and was a French Open quarter-finalist in 1962. Vijay Amritraj, who later became a hugely popular TV host and acted in a Bond movie (Octopussy), was no less talented, reaching the Wimbledon quarters in 1973 and '81, and the last eight of the US Open in '73 and '74.

A serve-volley exponent with a game perfectly equipped for Wimbledon grass, Amritraj often found himself in winning positions against the game’s greats – two sets to one, and 4-1 against Bjorn Borg in 1979, and 2-0 up against Jimmy Connors in 1981 – only for a perceived lack of ruthlessness to stop him from going all the way.

Right now, the highest-ranked Indian men’s player is Saketh Myneni, at No.199.

After decades of poverty, Indian tennis can only hope that one of those kids watching Federer and Nadal with awestruck eyes will go on to at least reprise the feats of the Krishnans and Amritraj.

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